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Akaashi had always been fascinated by stars.
When he was younger, he could often be found atop the cold, dark-shingled roof, staring up into the impassive night sky and attempting to imprint them into his mind. Surely these cold, distant, celestial beings held all the answers- they would know why he couldn’t get any of his chords right in the Bach today, and how to fix them so his parents would stop sending him that disappointed look.
Akaashi wondered if there was music out there, in space.
He thought he had heard somewhere once that there was- that electric waves or something had been converted to audio clips by a bunch of scientists, and you could hear the sound of the planets and stars moving around.
He wondered what it sounded like; surely it would be precise, calculated music- everything moving in tandem to ensure that astronomical catastrophes didn’t occur. Or would it be free, wild- everything tumbling wonderfully in an obscure, concealed pattern that only the distant stars could decipher?
Akaashi did a lot of wondering out there, on the roof. He knew he should be sleeping- his parents would come find him soon, as they always did, and they would scold him in soft voices for staying up out there in the cold when he had a violin lesson the next day that he had to be in top shape for. He knew all of this, and yet he stayed. He couldn’t miss any of the secrets the night sky had to offer- for in the morning, the stars would be gone, hidden, and all of their stories with them.
So he stayed out on the roof a bit more, staring up at the stars until his parents came up to get him, all disappointed frowns and clucking tongues.
6 Years Later
The gray-smudged clouds hung heavy over the early morning air, and Akaashi released his breath in an annoyed huff, tightening his grip on his violin case. Clouds meant a black night, meant that the stars and all their whispered secrets would be obscured from him. Tonight he would be left to his thoughts alone, the click of the metronome and the harsh words of his teacher and every mistake he had made today in his lesson.
More weight to the back of the hand, stop straightening your pinky, bow closer to the bridge, why are your runs so sloppy, fix them, fix them, fix them, you have to be perfect-
Enough.
Akaashi tried to remember how he had felt when he had first started playing the violin- the wonder he had felt at the sounds produced by this impossibly fragile box of wood and strings, the surge of power he had experienced at the knowledge that he could manipulate these sounds however he wanted with enough practice, he could make them soar, he could make them dance-
But it was hazy, obscured over the long years by words and glares and the clicking of metronomes and the why are you moving your feet while playing, you’re messing up your posture, this isn’t dancing, this is music, there are rules.
These gloomy thoughts accompanied the rhythmic sound of his feet on the ground as he made his way through the city on this rather gloomy day, bringing a shadow to his face and an irritable tapping to his fingers. There wasn’t any point in thinking about the past, he had to get home, he had to practice; that Mendelssohn really wasn’t going to polish itself.
Akaashi was staring at the ground as he walked, too busy thinking about clouds and octaves and stars and arpeggios to give much thought to his surroundings. It was because of this that he was so surprised when a soft, unexpected sound interrupted his internal run-through of the concerto he was supposed to be perfecting.
It was the sound of a bow against strings- he would recognize it anywhere. Another soft chord came, startling him enough to look up. It was an open fifth, soft and careful. Someone was tuning. From the rich, deep tone, he thought it was probably a cello.
Glancing around curiously while slowing his pace to a stop, Akaashi attempted to find the source of the soft notes and failed. A few more chords sounded from somewhere off to the side, followed by a couple experimental notes and quick scales. He cast his eyes about again, impatiently brushing dark hair out of his eyes.
It was when the first loud, clear note rang out that Akaashi saw him.
The first thing he thought was that this guy’s hair had to be the strangest thing he had ever seen- it was white streaked and sticking up wildly, seeming to have no regard for gravity whatsoever.
The second thing he thought was that he had stumbled across the sun itself.
The boy was moving his bow across the strings with abandon, set up on a street corner with his cello, the passers-by paying him little heed. He was grinning down at his hands, his molten-gold eyes shining with more giddy light than any one person had any right to have.
His fingers wrung a chaotic tumble of notes from the silver-shining strings and the melody flowed freely, with a loose rhythm and seemingly random chords and embellishments interspersed throughout. Right then, Akaashi knew he was hearing the sounds of the stars he had sought after for all those years.
The gloomy, crowded street corner disappeared, and was replaced with spinning stardust and proud nebulas. He was up there in space, floating alongside the gleaming celestial bodies he had admired for so long. And there, right in front of him, was the brightest of them all- the sun itself, laughing and dancing, throwing wild rays of light out into the distance, both reckless and noble.
The sun is a star, too, he thought numbly, held transfixed as the wild melody flowed around him. So entranced was he by the ebb and flow of the starry music, he failed to notice that he had somehow moved closer to the cellist, stopping only when he was directly in front of him.
All at once, the music drew to a close, and the street corner was back- though the sun remained, held in the eyes of that ridiculous-haired boy sitting before him. He was grinning up at Akaashi, the corners of his sun-eyes crinkling slightly. He moved his face with the same bright, reckless abandon that was found in his music, his smile seeming to take up at least half his face.
Akaashi became suddenly aware that he was staring, mouth rudely agape, and felt a rush of heat fill his cheeks.
“That. I. That was-”
Words seemed to be coming to him with much greater difficulty than he was used to in the face of this completely unprecedented sun boy.
“That was very good,” he finally got out, cursing his inability to get his emotions across effectively through speech.
Impossibly, the boy’s smile became even wider, and his eyes sent sparks of bright light directly through Akaashi, pinning him in place and rendering him speechless once again.
“Thanks!” the boy chirped, bouncing in his seat slightly and adjusting his hold on the neck of his cello.
“I’m Bokuto! You’re the first person to stop and talk to me today! Wasn’t that cool? Did you like those double stops at the end? I wanted to add them in and see what would happen, and I think it turned out pretty great. Is that a violin case? Do you play violin? Whoa, that’s really cool. What’s your name, by the way?”
Akaashi blinked numbly, momentarily stunned by the sudden stream of questions. Hoisting his violin case more securely up on his shoulder, he recovered his composure, his mouth thankfully remembering the shape of words once more.
“Akaashi. I’m Akaashi Keiji.”
That sunny smile gleamed back at him again, impossibly bright, and Akaashi found something similar tugging at his own lips.
The clouds weren’t going to get in the way of the stars today after all, it seemed.